The Second Kind of Impossible

by Paul Steinhardt

  Cameron agreed to send me the mineral for examination. I had high expectations for that particular sample, and began anxiously checking my university mailbox several times a day. It was more than a week before the bad news arrived—Cameron had decided to test the mineral himself and found it to be a complete fake. It was labeled “Khatyrkite, a metallic alloy of aluminum and copper.” But testing proved there was no trace of aluminum whatsoever.

  Similar things happened with two of the other supposed samples identified in our search. In the end, testing revealed that every sample outside of Russia was an absolute fake.

  Our experience trying to chase down a fresh sample of khatyrkite revealed the limitations of the international mineral market. Amateur collectors are eager to get their hands on as many different types of minerals as possible. But there is no way to authenticate a mineral with the naked eye. Unlike diamonds, which are so costly that independent certifications are considered routine, most minerals are modestly priced and professional tests are time-consuming and comparatively expensive. So more often than not, an amateur collector is willing to purchase a sample based solely on a dealer’s representation. But most likely, the dealer has not performed any testing.

  Eventually, a collector may decide to either donate or sell an untested mineral to a museum or academic institution. The curator is then in the same dilemma as the collector. Testing is time-consuming and comparatively expensive. A common approach is to simply accept the stated designation.

  All of the fake samples had proven the same thing: The international mineral market was like a big casino, and every mineral sale a toss of the dice. I was beginning to appreciate why Lincoln and Glenn were so skeptical about the Florence sample, even though it had been found in a respected museum.

  Maybe it was not legitimate after all?

  * * *

  ST. PETERSBURG, RUSSIA, FEBRUARY–MARCH 2009: We were down to our fourth and final prospect, which was at Russia’s St. Petersburg Mining Museum. I tried to temper my enthusiasm in light of our previous failures, but was still betting on success.

  The Russian sample has to be legitimate, I thought, because it is the official “holotype” for crystal khatyrkite, which presumably means it has been rigorously authenticated.

  A holotype is the certified example of a new mineral, as approved by the International Mineralogical Association. In order to have a new mineral accepted by the IMA, one must submit results of a series of laboratory tests that are reviewed by an international committee of mineralogists. If the committee finds the tests convincing, a paper describing the new mineral must be submitted for publication. In addition, a sample, called a holotype, must be donated to a public museum.

  There were three Russian scientists connected to the khatyrkite holotype—Leonid Razin, Nikolai Rudashevsky, and Leonid Vyal’sov. Luca and I knew they had coauthored a 1985 scientific paper reporting the discovery of both khatyrkite and cupalite, as shown below. That was notable for us, because it hinted at a match. They were the same rare minerals we had found in the Florence sample.

  Luca and I believed that if the St. Petersburg holotype was authentic, as one would expect, the argument in favor of the Florence sample would be greatly strengthened. So we returned to the Russian paper and reexamined it in earnest.

  The new mineral was reportedly found in a remote region of the Chukotka Okrug. The word “okrug” denotes an administrative district in Russia. Luca and I found that Chukotka Okrug is the official name of the northern half of the Kamchatka Peninsula, across the Bering Strait from Alaska.

  The Koryak mountain range cuts through the region. One of the Koryak’s largest drainage rivers is the Khatyrka, from which the name “khatyrkite” is derived. According to the Russian scientists, they discovered khatyrkite while panning blue-green clay near the Khatyrka River along the Listvenitovyi Stream, as shown on the map on the next page.

  Luca and I were especially excited to discover that the location matched the label on the plastic box Luca had found in his museum: “Khatyrka, Koriak Russia.”

  Since the label matched, did that mean the Florence sample was from the same place? Perhaps. If so, it would seem likely that the sample was nature-made, since there were no Russian foundries or factories operating in that remote region.

  But even if they were not from the same place, the mere existence of an authentic sample of khatyrkite with the same basic chemical composition as the one found in Florence was good news for the blue team. If we could prove to Lincoln and Glenn that the St. Petersburg holotype was of natural origin, that would force them to reevaluate their opposition.

  It was clear what we needed to do next. We needed access to the holotype in order to verify the original results of the laboratory tests.

  Luca and I tried to use our combined influence to borrow the holotype from the Russian museum. We explained that we were trying to authenticate the Florence sample and wanted to conduct a special series of noninvasive tests on the holotype that would not damage the material in any way. Unfortunately, the director of the St. Petersburg Mining Museum refused to cooperate. It is quite common for scientists to lend each other samples for testing, especially if the original sample will not be damaged in the process, as would have been the case here. But the Russian director strictly prohibited anyone from touching the holotype, including his own team of in-house scientists.

  This was an especially difficult defeat for Luca and me to accept. Another disheartening dead end.

  * * *

  PRINCETON, MARCH 2009: In the midst of all this activity, Science magazine sent another update about our paper announcing the discovery of a natural quasicrystal. I had been dreading this moment for months. Luca and I were currently bearing the full brunt of Lincoln’s and Glenn’s harsh criticism, and I assumed their opinions would be shared by other geologists. So I was expecting a round of withering criticism from the magazine along with a stinging rejection letter.

  Having braced for the worst, I was pleasantly surprised and gratified to read the reviews and analyses of our paper. The anonymous team of professional peers was generally supportive. They recognized the significance of the discovery, posed good questions, and offered constructive suggestions for improvement.

  Luca and I did not have any difficulty incorporating the referees’ suggestions. Both of us felt the paper was likely to be accepted once our revisions were considered, which meant publication might now be less than two months away. That was our desired outcome, of course. But it created an even greater sense of urgency to resolve our differences with the red team.

  Lincoln suggested a novel approach. If we could establish the precise location where the St. Petersburg sample was discovered we could study geological conditions in the vicinity. We might find something, he speculated, that would help explain the baffling presence of metallic aluminum.

  Lincoln and I immediately went to work in Princeton’s Maps and Geospatial Information Center. We spent hours poring over maps of Chukotka searching for the slightest mention of the Listvenitovyi Stream in the large maps held in the collection. This was time-consuming, old-school research.

  The Russian team’s paper included enough information for us to narrow the search to within ten or twenty miles. Normally, that would be helpful. In this case, though, it left us with too broad an area to evaluate. Terrain in the Koryak mountain range is so varied that geological conditions change dramatically every few miles. We needed to find the precise stream in order to get as close as possible to the discovery site.

  I always found the name of the stream to be musical, at least the way I pronounced it: LIST-ven-i-TOV-yi. I repeated the name over and over to myself while scanning the map pages, as if I could conjure it up by silently chanting its name. LIST-ven-i-TOV-yi. LIST-ven-i-TOV-yi. LIST-ven-i-TOV-yi. Perhaps that was how it managed to burrow its way into my subconscious.

  I seldom remember any of my dreams. But after returning home late one night from the map library, I had a particularly vivid d
ream involving the Listvenitovyi. Luca and I were standing together along the side of the stream in front of a hill that rose several feet above our heads. Our hands were clasped together and held high as a sign of victory, and we were smiling broadly.

  I could never imagine myself traveling to a place as remote as the Koryak Mountains. But the dream was such an intense emotional experience that I wrote it down and mentioned it to Luca during one of our daily Internet chats. It was such an unusual experience, I could only surmise that all of the failures and frustrations of the blue team were beginning to take a psychological toll on me.

  Despite the long hours we spent searching every available resource, Lincoln and I were never able to find any trace of the Listvenitovyi Stream on a map. So once again, another dead end.

  The blue team vs. red team competition was becoming so one-sided that I was no longer keeping score.

  * * *

  PRINCETON AND FLORENCE, MARCH–APRIL 2009: Even though most of our efforts were focused on trying to establish the origin and legitimacy of the St. Petersburg sample, the blue team’s investigation was also continuing on a number of other fronts. For example, Luca and I were still struggling to find a scientific explanation that could account for the presence of natural aluminum.

  We were surprised to discover that there were already a number of papers by scientists claiming to have discovered pure metallic aluminum in nature. Not mixed with copper or other metals, like our sample, just pure aluminum. When Luca and I showed the papers to Lincoln and Glenn, they scoffed at every claim. The authors were not well-known, they said, and the evidence not convincing. Natural aluminum was definitely impossible, as far as the red team was concerned.

  Nevertheless, I contacted the scientists involved and began purchasing samples of their material, which is how I ended up acquiring what I like to call the “World’s Largest Collection of (Purported) Natural Aluminum.”

  Once I started examining the samples, I had to admit that Lincoln and Glenn might be right. Most of them looked questionable. One of them was especially suspicious. It looked like a fragment of electrical wire that had been struck by lightning. Others were harder to assess, and I thought a more serious analysis was justified. I could have tested them myself, but decided they should be evaluated by the person most skeptical of their validity.

  So I took my entire collection to Glenn, hoping he could examine everything in his lab at the Smithsonian Natural History Museum. But somehow, he just never found the time. Perhaps he was too skeptical or too busy or both. As of this writing, my collection is still awaiting his review. It is not taking up too much room on his shelf. The “World’s Largest Collection of (Purported) Natural Aluminum” could fit in the palm of your hand, with room to spare.

  Luca and I found numerous other papers describing metallic aluminum found in remote regions that could definitely be traced back to human activity. Sources included foundries, jet fuel exhaust, nuclear bomb tests, frying pans, and coins left on hot stoves for long periods of time. Based on our study, all of the samples produced by these anthropogenic processes had physical properties that we did not find in the Florence sample. That did not prove our sample was natural. But it was a bit of good news that briefly buoyed the lagging spirits of the blue team.

  Luca and I also found scientific papers suggesting various theories speculating how metallic aluminum might form as part of a natural process. Some of those ideas seemed convoluted. We didn’t know how to judge their viability.

  I had originally hoped that we would be able to screen out most of these theories based on the geology of the Kamchatka Peninsula. Unfortunately, that turned out to be a naive idea. Whatever crazy geological property was needed to support a theory about the formation of natural aluminum, Chukotka had it. The region was literally a geological mash-up, which explained why geologists had been studying it for decades. Because of the geological complexity of the region, not a single one of the theories could be eliminated.

  * * *

  TEL AVIV, ISRAEL, MARCH 2009: The deadline to decide whether to publish our Science magazine paper was fast approaching. But so far, Luca and I had failed to prove that our quasicrystal discovery was natural, as we believed it to be. So we made a last-ditch effort to find Leonid Razin, the lead author of the 1985 Russian paper that had first reported the discovery of khatyrkite and cupalite in Chukotka.

  Following the limited amount of information available on the Internet, we learned that Razin was head of the Soviet Institute of Platinum in 1985, when the paper was published. That made perfect sense to us, because platinum has strategic technological applications, and there are significant deposits of platinum in Chukotka. Razin’s professional appointment helped explain his presence at the remote location.

  The fact that Razin was head of the Institute of Platinum suggested to us that he was no ordinary mineralogist. He would have needed important political connections within the Communist Party to be named to that post.

  Was Razin still alive? Was he still in Russia? Luca and I emailed Russian scientists. Each of them referred us to others, who referred us to others, who referred us to others. Down the rabbit hole we went, once again.

  We eventually learned that Razin was a well-known character, but never particularly popular or admired by colleagues. Several people told us he had powerful KGB connections and wasn’t afraid to use those connections to destroy his competitors.

  Others, including internationally known geologists and members of the prestigious Russian Academy of Sciences, told us that Razin was not trustworthy. They did not believe Razin’s claim of finding natural minerals containing metallic aluminum solely because they did not consider him to be a reliable source about anything. In other words, our Russian colleagues agreed with Lincoln and Glenn, but for different reasons. They, too, thought the sample was probably a fake.

  That was frankly the last thing Luca and I wanted to hear. At this point, Razin’s paper was our only active lead. We were still hoping the Russian discovery would turn out to be legitimate, even though all the evidence was stacking up against us.

  After multiple email chains, we finally found several people who told us Razin was still alive. They believed he had emigrated from Russia to Israel sometime after the fall of the Soviet Union in the early 1990s. Israel is not a very big country, so it was a relatively easy process to review the online telephone books for each metropolitan area. I quickly found an “L. Razin” listed in Tel Aviv.

  I tried calling the number. Problem: Whoever answered the phone could not speak English. I hung up, and dragooned an Israeli graduate student at Princeton to act as translator.

  I called again with my expert Hebrew translator in tow. Problem: The residents did not speak Hebrew, either.

  The third time around, I drafted a Russian graduate student to help. Success at last. The residents spoke fluent Russian and immediately confirmed that I had reached the home of Leonid Razin.

  I took several deep breaths while waiting for Razin to come to the phone. I realized that we were about to have a momentous conversation that would affect the future of the entire project.

  After a brief introduction, I told him I was interested in a 1985 paper about the discovery of khatyrkite and cupalite.

  “Are you the Leonid Razin who is the lead author on the paper?” I asked, trying to contain my excitement.

  “Yes, I am Academician Razin,” he answered coldly.

  Razin sounded more formal than friendly. He obviously wanted to make sure I recognized his status as a distinguished member of the Russian Academy of Sciences.

  I decided not to tell him that I had comparable status in the United States and had been elected to the National Academy of Sciences. Instead, I tried to put him at ease by praising his paper and describing how we had discovered samples of a new phase of matter in a rock with a similar chemical composition.

  His reaction was surprisingly tepid. I had expected that Razin would be excited that another scientist was calling
to discuss a paper he had written nearly a quarter century ago. I had anticipated that he would be even more excited to learn that his work might help establish the foundation for a new form of matter.

  But instead, Razin seemed to exude extreme indifference. I found his attitude off-putting, but continued to pepper him with questions.

  “Were you the one who personally discovered the khatyrkite samples in the field?”

  “Da,” he responded. I could understand that answer without any translation, and smiled with relief.

  “Do you have your geological field notebook?” I asked, hoping to be able to read about how he had discovered the khatyrkite sample along with his notes on the geological surroundings.

  Razin hemmed and hawed. “I am not sure,” he finally said. “Perhaps it is in Moscow.”

  I looked up from my notes. To me, that was a big red flag.

  Lincoln had already told me that every field geologist knows the location of his or her notebook at all times. It is a prized possession that is carried every day while on location. The geologist records a detailed account of every rock, grain, or clay sample collected and the exact conditions under which it was found. One could never afford to misplace it or leave it behind. The fact that Razin did not know the precise location of his field notebook disturbed me.

  I tried another tack. “Can you explain to me the conditions under which you found the sample?”

  “It is described in the paper,” was the frosty response.

  I persisted. “I would like more details about the precise geological circumstances.”